


you took my soul and wiped it clean

by ridethatcyclone



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Clarke is a grounder AU, F/M, Following the main plotline but playing fast and loose with canon events
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-02-25 13:04:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2622788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ridethatcyclone/pseuds/ridethatcyclone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy planned for everything – planned how to get food, how to keep everyone in line, how to keep the Ark from sending down more people – he planned for everything. What he didn't plan on was there being people down there with them.</p><p>He didn't plan on grounders, and he certainly didn't plan on <i>her</i>.</p><p>~aka that AU where Clarke is a grounder and somehow it makes all the difference~</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if I'll continue this. I started it to get myself out of my NaNoWriMo funk, but now I'm kind of invested in it.
> 
> For the purposes of this AU, it is assumed that Abby and Clarke are un-related - Abby is still the doctor up on the Ark, while Clarke is a grounder. Also, since Clarke was never on the Ark to begin with, Wells is not part of the 100, and thus the whole subplot with Charlotte and Murphy hasn't occurred.
> 
> I have a thing for under-utilized minor characters, so Monroe and Miller will probably end up being fairly central to this story. Also, Raven. 
> 
> One hundred percent un-beta'd, barely edited at all if I'm being truthful -- it's NaNoWriMo, I'm scarcely pausing to sleep here. All mistakes are my own. Many apologies for them and any possible OOC-ness.

When the dropship landed, Bellamy took his chance. He was the oldest here, and he had the most to lose – he knew he had to take charge or risk losing Octavia forever. So take charge was what he did. He opened the doors, and he made sure Octavia was the first to step onto the ground. Her face lit up in an illuminating smile, and he couldn’t help but grin too, happy to see his sister, for once, _free_.

If he’d known what would happen on the ground, maybe he would have done things differently. He would have still shot Jaha – he had to, had to be with Octavia. But maybe he would have led differently, been more – shit, who knew. Still, for all the infortune that befell himself and the rest of the hundred, there were some good things – some lights in the darkness that Bellamy would cling to until they were pried from his cold, dead hands.

They set up camp quickly, even faster than Bellamy would have given them credit for. Octavia made a show of flirting with the spacewalker, and Bellamy made a mental note to keep an eye on him. Murphy was vying for Bellamy’s approval, but Bellamy wasn’t totally fooled by him either. He was slimy – all the hundred had the potential to be, all criminals, at least in the eyes of the Ark – and Bellamy wasn’t going to let his guard down. Octavia’s life depended on him, and he wouldn’t let anyone jeopardize that. If there was anyone on the ground Bellamy trusted, it was Miller. He was quiet, but he followed orders and seemed genuinely concerned with everyone’s safety. Monroe, too – tough as nails but her heart was in the right place. Bellamy’s first order of business was to surround himself with allies, and they were his first choices. He brought Murphy in close, too. Keep your enemies close, and all that bullshit.

He planned for everything – planned how to get food, how to keep everyone in line, how to keep the Ark from sending down more people – he planned for _everything_. What he didn’t plan on was there being other people down there with them. He didn’t plan on grounders, and he certainly didn’t plan on _her_.

They’d been there for maybe a week when a pod streaked across the sky, crash landing a ways outside of camp. They’d been fortifying – Spacewalker had seen people, _other_ people, impossible people, and then Jasper had nearly been impaled on a spear and it was made clear that they needed to boost their walls – when there was a loud, screeching sound. Monroe was the first to see the fireball, and she roughly whirled Bellamy around, pointing at the sky. It was high up, but it was undoubtedly a dropship – a pod of some kind, too small for any more than one, _maybe_ two people.

“Stay here,” Bellamy told her, “You and Miller keep everyone in line. Octavia doesn’t leave camp.” She nodded, braids falling over her shoulder, and ran to find Miller. Bellamy grabbed a weapon -- a spear that was more sharp stick than anything really useful, and a thin blade that was too small for a surprise attack, but was absolutely fatal up close.

The trek to where the pod had landed wasn’t a long one, and it was an easy enough path to follow. Bellamy tread carefully, well aware the grounders had booby trapped every inch of this forest. When he stepped out of the cover of trees and into the clearing where the pod lay, he froze in his tracks.

Peering into the pod, so far unaware of his presence, was a petite, lithe blonde girl. She was dressed in the mish-mash of Ark-like clothing and animal skins that signified a grounder, and her hair was dirty and wild, some of it pulled back and halfway braided, tied with a strip of leather. Cautiously, quietly, Bellamy levelled his spear at her, taking two hesitant steps forward. His third step landed on a twig, and his brow twitched as she spun around, whipping a knife out of the sheath on her thigh. She crouched into a defensive position, watching Bellamy warily.

Her eyes were blue – or grey, maybe.

Bellamy paused, a little surprised by how… _Normal_ she looked, but when her eyes narrowed he remembered himself, and he took a threatening step forward. Belatedly, he realized she might not be alone, but watching her eyes dart rapidly from him to the trees behind him, he knew she was on her own.

“I need to get to that pod,” he growled, “You can move or I can make you move.” The girl gave no indication that she understood him, staying where she was, knife held at the ready and eyes wild.

“You think we’re trouble now,” ground out Bellamy, “Just wait until the radio from that pod is used to bring down even more of us. _Or_ ,” he took a step forward, but she was stone, ready to strike if he got within range, “… You can let me destroy the radio.”

She didn’t move, the only indication that she could hear him at all a miniscule twitch of the brow. Bellamy sighed in frustration. “… You can’t even understand me, can you?”

“Why would you want to stop your people from getting reinforcements?” she asked, and her voice was clear, no trace of an accent or any hint that she was unsure of her words.

“So you do speak English,” muttered Bellamy, lowering the spear a fraction, “It’s a long story, but trust me, I don’t want them down here anymore than you do.”

“I don’t trust you,” she replied, but relaxed her stance slightly as well, “And how do I know letting you get this ‘radio’ won’t call your reinforcements regardless?”

“You can take the stupid radio,” replied Bellamy, “I just don’t want it in working condition. I’ll break it _in front of you_ , just let me at it.” She studied him suspiciously for a minute, then took three careful steps to her left, allowing him access to the pod. Movements careful and obvious, Bellamy slowly made his way to the pod, forcing it open. A girl sat inside, unconscious and bleeding, but alive. Bellamy frowned, eyes scanning the interior of the pod, before reaching out and grabbing the radio, ripping it from its place. He stepped backward, closing the pod. He’d come back for the girl inside later, right now he had to make absolutely sure this radio never sent out a signal.

The grounder girl was standing a few feet away now, watching him with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. He held the radio up as proof that it was what he’d come for.

“Destroy it,” she said, raising her chin.

“Not here,” said Bellamy, “Someone might find it and link it to me. There’s a stream near here, right?” The girl squinted at him a little, clearly trying to decide if she should believe him. Apparently, the prognosis was good, because she nodded slightly.

“Not too far east of here,” she said, “I’ll show you.”

“I don’t need you to show me,” he growled.

“Well I don’t trust you to destroy that thing,” she snapped, “And I doubt you trust me to destroy it. So I’m going with you until I am _sure_ it will not call your people.”

“Fine,” Bellamy hefted his spear back up, holding it not pointed at her but still clearly within reach, “Let’s go then.” The girl tightened her grip on her knife, spun on her heel, and walked, wild blonde hair flying behind her. Bellamy took in a steadying breath, rolling his eyes to the sky, and followed.

They were silent, the air between them thick with tension. Bellamy studied the girl as they walked. She held herself tall, shoulders back. She looked proud, and strong, even with her hair tangled and wild and dirt smeared across her skin. Bellamy could almost respect her, if she wasn’t his enemy, if they weren’t ready to kill each other at a moment’s notice.

Bellamy heard the creek before he saw it, and when they broke the tree line he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The girl turned, watching him. Bellamy slid his knife carefully out of his pocket, slicing through some of the wires. He was no engineer, no mechanic, but he had to assume that would be enough. Then he drew his arm back, hurling the radio across the stream and into the water with an angry force he hadn't really expected of himself.

When he turned back, the girl was wading into the water, knife out. He watched as she sliced some reddish seaweed, lifting it up and wading back over to him. He took a step back, grip tightening on his own knife, but she simply held out the seaweed.

“It’s medicinal,” she said, “For that girl. Her head wounds didn’t appear serious, but…” Bellamy reached out, taking the slimy seaweed, frowning.

“Why are you suddenly so helpful?” he asked.

“I’m a healer,” she said, shrugging and stepping back out of reach, “Habits are difficult to break, I guess.”

“Right,” said Bellamy, a little awkwardly, “Well – thanks, I guess.” She nodded slowly, bit her lip, then turned to go back to the forest. “I—“ Bellamy said, his quickness surprising even him, “Maybe you should take a look at her. We don’t have a healer, and—“ She turned, watching him. “—er, forget it.” He turned and headed back towards the pod.

He realized halfway through the walk that she had silently followed after him. He turned to look over his shoulder and caught her eye. Hesitantly, she smiled at him. He snapped his neck back around, focusing on his path forwards.

They reached the pod and Bellamy opened the door again. The girl within blinked blearily at him, one hand holding her bleeding head. Her eyes widened.

“You’re Bellamy Blake,” she said, a little out of breath. Bellamy opened his mouth to reply, shoulders tense, but the grounder girl stepped in front of him, smiling sweetly at the girl in the pod.

“Let me see your head,” said the grounder, “I’m a healer.” Looking a little confused, and more than a little suspicious, the girl did as the grounder asked, turning her head for her to see. The grounder held her hand out to Bellamy, and he dropped the seaweed into it. She efficiently ripped it apart, cleaning the blood away from the girl’s head with a cloth before gently pressing the seaweed into the wound.

“I don’t recognize your face from the Ark,” said pod-girl, “What station are you from?” The grounder just smiled, pointedly avoiding answering the question. “I’m Raven,” said pod-girl, trying again, “Raven Reyes. What’s your name? Which station are you from?” Again, the grounder said nothing.

“Just let her patch you up,” said Bellamy irritably, “We can do the interrogation thing later.” Raven’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“You’re one to talk,” she spat, “Bellamy Blake, everyone knows your name and face on the Ark.” She turned to the grounder. “He shot Jaha,” she said, “He shot the Chancellor.” The grounder paused in her work, turning to regard Bellamy evenly.

“That’s why you didn’t want them to come here,” she said quietly. Bellamy’s jaw ticked.

“You’re not from the Ark,” said Raven, a look of understanding dawning on her face, “You’re not from the Ark, there are other _people_ on the ground –“ Her face lit up. “That means it’s definitely survivable down here! We have to contact the ark – they’re going to cull people, they’re going to kill so many people if we don’t tell them it’s survivable—“ she froze. “… Where’s the radio? Goddammit, it must have- must have dislodged during the flight.”

The grounder turned fully, looking at Bellamy with a look of abject horror. He avoided eye contact looking at the ground.

“How many people will die?” asked the grounder.

“Three hundred,” said Raven, struggling to pull herself out of the pod.

“Three hundred,” repeated the grounder faintly. “Three hundred people, _Bellamy Blake_.”

“I can’t help them,” said Bellamy hoarsely, “There’s no radio, so—“

“Would it still work?” asked the grounder, “If we, if we pulled it out of the stream?”

“Stream?” asked Raven, “What stream? What the hell is she talking about, Blake?”

The grounder took a step towards Bellamy, looking up at him seriously. “You cannot let your people die like this, Bellamy Blake,” she said, “There are things we do to protect ourselves, but this? There are lines that cannot be un-crossed.”

Bellamy stood stone still, jaw ticking, hands curled white-knuckled around his spear. The grounder’s eyes were blue-grey, he noticed absently, putting to rest his earlier inner debate. She was pleading with him to save the people of the Ark. They were enemies, and still she wanted him to save them. If he didn’t – if they died –

He’d be a monster. But—

“The radio’s broken,” Bellamy shifted his weight, frowning, “There’s nothing we can do…”

“What do you mean it’s broken?” demanded Raven, a fire lighting in her eyes, “I’m a mechanic, I can fix a banged up radio – how do you know it’s broken?”

“Because I broke it,” snapped Bellamy, feeling the heat of shame crawl up his spine, “I didn’t want the Ark to know we lived, because—“

“Because you shot the chancellor,” Raven laughed humorlessly, “And if the people of the Ark make it down here…”

“They’ll kill me,” finished Bellamy, “You don’t kill the chancellor and get away with it.”

“He’s not dead,” said Raven, “You’re a lousy shot. So you’ve got that in your corner, at least.” Her glare was hard, but she seemed to be well aware that she wasn’t necessarily among friends, and needed to play nice at least for the time being. “Show me where the radio is, I’ll see if I can fix it.”

Bellamy hesitated, eyes flitting between Raven and the grounder. Raven’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and she opened her mouth, but the grounder beat her to the punch.

“Are you really willing to let _three hundred_ people die in order to save your own life?” demanded the grounder, stepping forward into Bellamy’s personal space, “Is that the kind of person you are, Bellamy Blake?”

“I don’t want it to be,” said Bellamy, voice sounding small to his ears. The grounder’s expression softened, and she tilted her head, blonde curls cascading over her shoulders.

“Then don’t let it be,” she replied, just as quietly.

“… The radio’s this way,” said Bellamy after a time, turning towards the stream once more. The grounder gave him a ghost of a smile, then turned and disappeared into the trees. Bellamy paused, eyes lingering on the spot where she’d been, then he shook his head, steeled himself, and led Raven to the radio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think, if I should continue, etc.
> 
> Oh, and the title is from the song ["All I Want" by Kodaline](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cqJoVlnmdFQ) which is SUCH a Bellarke song, goddamn
> 
> Also if you want to cry over THE HUG, I'm over at [tumblr](http://saralancelot.tumblr.com)


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never written anything so quick in my life, I swear. Your kind comments and kudos and bookmarks and so on have kept me super motivated, so many thanks to all of you!
> 
> I'm not re-watching the episodes as I write - I'm a college student, by all rights I should _probably_ be studying or something - so I apologize for any discrepancies in conversations that actually happened in the show.
> 
> One of my best friends is _flying_ through this show, so soon enough I'll have a beta reader. Until then, all mistakes are my own.

 Octavia was missing. Not just that – Octavia was missing and _Bellamy hadn’t noticed_. He’d been caught up with trying to send a message to the Ark, after the failure that was the broken radio. The message was sent, bright flares lighting up the night sky, Raven and Finn were (sickeningly) reunited, and Octavia was goddamned _missing_.

“Miller!” barked Bellamy, “Get together a group, we’re going to go find my sister.” Miller nodded, turning on his heel. Bellamy kept on his path, straight to Finn’s tent, where he knew Raven would be. He pulled aside the flap, and both Raven and Finn looked up from where Raven was cutting Finn’s hair. They shot him twin looks of contempt, and Raven stood.

“I need to talk to you,” said Bellamy, “… Alone.” Raven frowned, but followed him out of the tent, despite Finn’s (loud) protests. Once they were a safe distance from any possible eavesdroppers, Bellamy took hold of Raven’s elbow. She wrenched it out of his grip, glaring.

“I’m here,” she said, “What the hell do you want?”

“What happened at the pod,” said Bellamy, shifting uncomfortably, “It needs to stay between us.”

“What—what are you talking about?” asked Raven, crossing her arms over her chest, “’What happened at the pod’?” Bellamy frowned, eyes darting around the camp in a quick check.

“… The grounder,” he said, “You shouldn’t mention the grounder.”

“Why not?” asked Raven, looking suspicious, “What’s the problem with her? She helped us.”

“We’re at war with the grounders,” explained Bellamy, reluctant, “I—don’t know why she helped us, but it’s not something that the others need to know.”

“Fine,” said Raven, “I won’t tell, but only because _she_ seemed like a good person. I don’t trust you, Blake, and I don’t care what happens to you.”

“Understood,” muttered Bellamy, turning away.

“And if you see her again,” called Raven as he walked away, “Tell her I said ‘thank you’.” Bellamy didn’t answer, just walked away and met his group of delinquents at the gate.

“We’re ready to go, Bell,” said Miller. Behind him, John, Diggs, Roma, and Monroe nodded. Finn jogged up as they left.

“I’m going too,” he said, looking determined. Bellamy cocked a brow, but didn’t say anything. The more help he had to find Octavia, the better.

 

 

The search didn’t go well.

John, Diggs, and Roma were all dead. Bellamy was huddled under a tent of all things with the rest of his team, hiding from the radioactive fog. Eventually, Bellamy just threw off the tent with frustration. It wasn’t as if it was airtight, anyway.

“No fog,” he muttered.

“Was it a false alarm?” asked Monroe, frowning as she scanned the horizon, looking for any signs of the fog.

“Must have been,” said Miller.

“Let’s keep looking for Octavia,” said Bellamy, “We have to be getting close.” Monroe and Miller frowned at him, but Finn nodded. Bellamy started to turn, but a flash of gold he saw out of the corner of his eye made him pause. “… On second thought,” said Bellamy, “You three head back and make sure the camp is okay. I’ll head back soon.”

“We’ll stay with you, it’s fi—“

“Miller,” snapped Bellamy, “I gave you an order.” Miller’s jaw clicked shut, and he nodded stiffly, turning towards camp. Monroe shot Bellamy a curious look, but followed after Miller. Finn squinted, a little suspiciously.

“What’re you up to?” he asked.

“None of your business, spacewalker,” ground out Bellamy, “Get back to camp.” Finn scoffed, but didn’t argue, turning and heading after Miller and Monroe. Bellamy stood where he was, watching them go. Once they were out of sight, a twig snapped behind Bellamy. He whirled around, coming face-to-face with the blonde grounder from before.

“I know where the girl is,” she said, and Bellamy was moving towards her before he’d made the conscious decision. She took a few quick steps backward, eyes sharp on him. “I know where she is, but I’ll only take you to her if you promise to follow my rules.”

“What rules?” he bit out, teeth clenched.

“No weapons,” she said, “There won’t be a conflict. You’ll pick up the girl—“

“My sister,” growled Bellamy.

“Your sister,” amended the girl, “You’ll pick her up and leave, and that will be that.”

“Where the _hell_ is she?” he demanded, fists clenching.

“She was injured,” explained the grounder, “My friend found her and brought her to me. She’s fine now, but I want your word you won’t harm my friend.”

It wasn’t in Bellamy’s nature to play nice with the same people who had been _attacking_ his own people. Frankly, it pissed him off. He had half a mind to bring a blade to her throat and force her to tell him where Octavia was, but he also knew she’d been living on Earth a lot longer than he had, and, begrudgingly, he had to admit that she probably knew her way around a knife better than he did. She’d helped him before, and even if he didn’t trust her, he believed that she was telling him the truth. At the very least, he wanted to believe she was telling him the truth. Letting out a frustrated breath, he stuck his hand out to her.

“Fine,” he said, “I won’t hurt your friend.” She eyed his hand warily, before darting her own out to shake his. Her hand was tiny compared to his, small and slim and cool, but he could feel the calluses on her palm and see the scrapes on her knuckles. She was small, maybe, but he was starting to understand that you couldn’t survive down here without being tough as hell. Someday her helpful nature would probably get her into trouble – maybe it already did – but Bellamy was… Shit, he was impressed with her, keeping herself so goddamn _kind_. He’d only been down here a week, and already—

Anyway.

She went to retract her hand, but Bellamy tightened his grip. Her eyes shot nervously up to his, and he could see her cataloguing all the ways she could break his arm, kill him, anything to get away.

“What’s your name?” he asked, and she blinked at him, posture relaxing a fraction. Her eyes fell to their hands, before fluttering back up to meet his gaze, looking more than a little wary.

“… Clarke,” she said finally. Bellamy took in a breath, nodding.

“Nice to meet you Clarke,” he dropped her hand, “I’m Bellamy. And I'll play nice, but my weapons stay.” She drew her hand towards her chest, still watching him, then nodded.

"Fair enough," she said, "But they stay sheathed." Bellamy frowned, but nodded.

“Now take me to my sister.”

 

They’d been walking for what felt like hours. Logically, Bellamy knew it couldn’t have been more than fifteen, twenty minutes tops, but he was itching to find his sister and growing ever more impatient by the second. He desperately wanted to ask Clarke how much further, but after the third time he’d done so, she’d spun on her heel, planted her palm firmly on his chest, and shoved, snapping at him that if he asked that one more time he could find his own goddamn sister. His ears burned at the thought of letting her push him around like that, but until he got Octavia back, he was pretty solidly at her mercy.

Absently, he noticed a horn swinging at her hip. He cocked a brow.

“You blew the horn?” he asked. She didn’t turn, just shrugged a shoulder.

“Seemed like you needed the help,” she replied. Bellamy scoffed -- she was right, but that didn’t mean he had to like it – and fell silent for the rest of their walk.

Finally, Clarke slowed to a halt, pulling aside some foliage to reveal the mouth of a cave hidden in the cliffside. Bellamy moved to enter the cave, but Clarke cut him off, stepping inside first and letting the branches she’d been holding snap him in the face. Bellamy took a long, steadying breath in through his nose, scrubbed a hand over his face, and followed.

The cave was scarcely lit, Bellamy trailing his hand along the wall just to stay upright, keeping his eyes on Clarke’s hair, which shone bright in the little light that did flicker within. Finally, the walls of the cave widened into a small room, in which two people sat: a fierce looking grounder that made Bellamy twitchy, and—

“Bell!” Octavia all but shouted, flinging herself into his arms. She was a little dirty, a little bloody, but looked alright besides. “Bell, don’t hurt them, they—“

“Helped you,” said Bellamy, “Yeah, I heard.” He was still eyeing the other grounder suspiciously. The man was wholly too focused on Octavia for Bellamy’s comfort. Bellamy’s eyes slid to Clarke, who was smiling faintly at the sibling reunion.

“Thanks,” he said gruffly. She nodded. “… Raven says thanks too.” Clarke smiled.

“She’s very welcome,” replied Clarke primly. Bellamy nodded stiffly.

“Let’s go, O.” Octavia’s face fell a little, and Bellamy’s eyebrow twitched.

“Okay,” she said, sounding not at all okay, “Let me just say goodbye first…”

“What—Octavia, we need to—“ Bellamy started, but Clarke darted forward, grabbing him by the forearm.

“Actually, Bellamy,” she said, “I need to talk to you about Octavia’s wounds? In private, so,” she shot Octavia an indecipherable look and dragged Bellamy outside.

“What the fuck,” It was less of a question and more of a frustrated statement, as Clarke came to a halt just outside the cave. Bellamy squinted in the sudden sunlight.

“She hurt her leg,” explained Clarke, “We popped it back into place and closed the wound, but you’ll want to keep an eye on it.” Her eyes kept darting back to the cave entrance, and Bellamy was starting to feel a headache blooming behind his eyes.

“And you couldn’t have told me this in there because…?” Clarke opened her mouth, but Octavia stepped out of the cave at that moment, looking a little flushed, smiling at Clarke. Bellamy looked between the two of them, at something of a loss.

“Didn’t you want to go, Bell?” asked Octavia, smiling sweetly. Bellamy frowned, but nodded. “Thanks again, Clarke,” said Octavia, throwing her arms around the blonde girl. Bellamy would seriously need to have a talk with her later about being too friendly with _goddamn grounders_. Clarke just smiled, patting Octavia on the back until she was released. She gave Bellamy a small smile too, then turned and made her way back into the cave. Bellamy watched her go, blonde curls swinging behind her, until she vanished into the dark. Octavia elbowed him, looking smug.

“She’s cute, huh?” she asked, her expression giving way to an absolutely shit-eating grin. Bellamy turned on his heel.

“We need to get back to camp,” he snapped, ears burning, “It’s getting dark.”

Octavia’s delighted laugh echoed behind him all the way back to camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured if Clarke was around she'd have the sense to tell Lincoln that you shouldn't chain up the girl you have a crush on. Also, Murphy is still around, but I'm having a difficult time working him into the story. He tends to screw up whatever scene I put him in, the little bastard, so I'll save him for some dramatics later ;)
> 
> Also I should mention that I won't (obviously) cover all the major events that would be changed if Clarke was a grounder (for instance, Atom...), but I generally have an idea of what happened for them in this AU so if you ever are curious about something, feel free to ask.
> 
> Again, feel free to chat with me either in the comments here or over on [tumblr](http://saralancelot.tumblr.com/) :)
> 
>  **edit:** Also I don't bloody know why the chapter one end-notes are showing up here as well. If anyone knows how I can fix this, please let me know. AO3 newbie here :) Thanks everyone!


	3. three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter so far! And also incredibly rushed, and for that I apologize. This was written in many small chunks in between classes and then mashed together. I just got a job, and wanted to get this posted before I start work (tomorrow, oh god)
> 
> Hopefully it reads well, and likely when I have a spare few moments I'll go back and re-write some parts to make them flow smoother.
> 
> Enjoy!

Raven finally got the radio up and working.

Bellamy wasn’t fucking pleased. Apparently, the Ark was making preparations to send another dropship. Another dropship inevitably meant Bellamy would end up floated. Or, well – dead, anyway. Octavia didn’t know, but Raven kept shooting Bellamy _looks_.

Finally, while kids were using the radio to speak with their parents, Raven pulled Bellamy aside.

“You need to tell her,” she hissed, keeping her voice low to avoid eavesdroppers, “She deserves to know.”

“You honestly think I’m stupid enough to stick around?” asked Bellamy. Raven’s eyes widened a fraction.

“You plan on leaving?” she asked, clearly turning the idea over in her mind. Bellamy stared hard at the dirt.

“… Yeah,” he answered, “I don’t really see any other way around it.”

“Are you gonna take her with you?”

“I can’t,” said Bellamy, and it took all his willpower to keep his voice level, “She’s safer here, anyway. She’s got—She’s got Miller and Monroe and Jasper and Monty and _you_ looking out for her. She’s better off here.”

“Without you, though?” asked Raven, and Bellamy was a little surprised to see concern shining in her eyes, “Don’t mistake this for me giving two shits about you, Blake – your sister’s good people, and she, for whatever reason, adores the fuck out of you.” Bellamy snorted.

“She’d be thrilled I left,” he muttered, “She hates that I’m here, controlling her.” This time it was Raven’s turn to snort.

“You are emotionally constipated on like, eighty different levels,” she said, crossing her arms, “But if you’re serious about leaving, I’ll help. You just gotta help me, first.”

“With what?” asked Bellamy, eyebrows raising. Raven glanced back at the dropship, pulling a map out of her back pocket.

“There’s a bunker not too far from here that might still have supplies,” she said, unfolding it carefully, “The Chancellor thinks it might have something that will actually give us a fighting chance against winter.”

“And?”

“And it’s not gonna be easy for me to get to alone. I don’t know these woods as well as you do.” She shifted on her feet impatiently.

“Why not ask spacewalker?” asked Bellamy.

“I would, but he’s not currently trying to pull a disappearing act,” she pointed out, “Also, he lacks a stomach for violence, and frankly I’d rather have a vaguely psychotic asshole –“ Bellamy snorted “—than a _sweet_ and _gentle_ —“ Bellamy snorted again, Raven glared “—pacifist watching my back.”

“… Fair enough,” agreed Bellamy, “So when do we leave?”

“Pack up,” said Raven, eyeing him critically, “It might be a long trip for you.”

 

 

The trek to the bunker was a long one. Bellamy and Raven eventually fell into silence – every time either opened their mouths it degenerated into sniping petty insults at each other, so eventually they just kept them closed.

Bellamy was starting to feel overheated. It was a long walk, and the cool air, though it should have been chilling his skin, only seemed to make him profoundly more uncomfortable. The only saving grace in his eyes was that Raven seemed to be struggling as well.

Finally they reached the ruins of the bunker, covered in vines and moss and yet still looking sturdy. Bellamy could only hope they found the supplies they needed. He didn’t know how he could leave Octavia to an uncertain fate if they didn’t. Raven held her hand over her eyes, squinting out over the bunker.

“They couldn’t just post signs,” she muttered, then turned to Bellamy, “Looks like we need to go hunting for a door.”

“Alright, let’s look,” Bellamy scanned the horizon, “Keep within shouting distance.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” grunted Raven, turning and jogging away.

Bellamy made his own way around the site, kicking aside branches as he went. He had the eerie feeling like someone was watching him, but every time he turned around he found himself alone. He took a slow look around, feeling an itch on the back of his neck. He snapped back to the issue at hand when Raven hollered that she had found a door. Bellamy turned, rubbing at his neck, and went to find her.

The bunker ended up being a fucking gold mine. They found blankets, which were good, but more importantly they found _guns_. Guns that jammed a little too frequently for Bellamy’s taste, given, but guns nonetheless.

“Now _that_ is what I’m talking about,” crowed Raven, taking another shot at their makeshift target. Bellamy checked his own gun, raised it, and fired, but all he got was a useless click.

“That could be trouble in a firefight,” he muttered, fiddling with the rifle before trying again. This time, the gun fired.

“Yeah, maybe,” said Raven, “But so far I haven’t seen any grounders with guns, so I think we’ll still have the advantage.” Her grin took on a troubling gleam. “And what an advantage it is,” she murmured, looking at the rifle with a look Bellamy could only call ‘lovingly’.

“… Right,” said Bellamy, “That’s not weird.” Raven shot him a glare, and he held his hands up in mock surrender.

“Go away, Blake,” she said, raising her rifle back up and aiming at the target, “This target practice is _mine_.”

“Whatever,” Bellamy muttered, slinging his rifle across his back as he left, heading up the stairs and back into fresh air. He still felt feverish somehow – maybe the long walk and being cooped up was having an effect on him.

He stumbled out of the bunker, hand on his head, and saw ghosts.

Jaha stood before him, pinning Bellamy down with a cold, unforgiving gaze. Blood gushed from his belly, unchecked. Bellamy broke into a cold sweat, stumbling backwards, away from the specter.

It wasn’t enough. More ghosts appeared, the ghosts of those who had died – those he had _killed_ – and they tormented him, whispering accusations and condemnations into his mind. In some, logical corner of his brain, Bellamy realized this wasn’t real, couldn’t be real, but he couldn’t bring himself to quite believe that. Couldn’t bring himself to snap out of the hallucination. The ghosts beat him into the dirt and Bellamy couldn’t – wouldn’t – fight back. He pushed himself to his knees, eyes level with the gun that had materialized into Jaha’s hand.

“Just do it,” gasped Bellamy, face wet with mud and blood and tears, “I _deserve it_.” Jaha’s eyes narrowed, Bellamy’s eyes cleared, and before him stood only Dax, a sneer on his face and rifle in his hand, aimed squarely at Bellamy.

“Whatever, psycho,” Dax muttered, finger moving to the trigger. Bellamy felt a huge breath leave his body. He hated leaving Octavia like this – hated it, god, but she was better off. Everyone was better off. He wasn’t even human anymore, and at this point, death would be a mercy. At least it would silence the ghosts.

Just as Dax squeezed the trigger, a rock came flying out of the darkness and into Dax’s hand, knocking the gun off aim as it shot. Dax turned, moving to bring the gun back up, but a small blonde streak tackled him before he had a chance, knocking the gun clear out of his hands. Dax hit the ground with a grunt, Clarke pinning him with one knee on his throat and the other on one of his arms. His last arm she twisted up and around, and with a sickening _pop_ Bellamy heard the joint go out of socket.

With a screamed profanity and a surge of strength, Dax threw Clarke off of him, scrambling for the rifle. She rolled nimbly to her feet, but Dax already had the rifle leveled at her.

Bellamy’s eyes widened, and he leapt to his feet. Dax pulled the trigger, but the gun just clicked uselessly, so instead he ran at Clarke and swung the gun at her head. She ducked under his first swing, but he grabbed a fistful of her hair and managed a blow across her cheek with the butt of the gun. She hit the ground, and Bellamy hit Dax, tackling him around his middle and knocking him to the ground beside Clarke.

In one swift move, she rolled over, shoving Bellamy out of the way as she drew the knife that usually sat on her thigh across Dax’s throat. It was a clean cut, the cut of a healer made to harm, and Dax was dead nearly instantly.

Clarke turned immediately to Bellamy, eyes wide and concerned even against the stark purple blooming high on her cheekbone.

“Are you okay?” she asked, watching as Bellamy more or less crawled to lean against a tree. He leaned back, eyes closing, trying to rid himself of the ghosts still screaming at him.

“No,” he said, barely a whisper. He felt Clarke move to sit next to him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked after a time. Bellamy snorted.

“You’re not my therapist,” he muttered.

“I don’t know what that means,” she pointed out to him, “I’m trying to be your friend.” Bellamy opened his eyes, turning to look at her.

“We’re not friends,” he said, and Clarke smirked.

“We’ve been friends for a while,” she said, “You’re just refusing to admit it.” Bellamy raised a brow.

“I am _not_ —“

“You are,” interrupted Clarke, “But it’s alright. I’ll be your friend anyway.” Bellamy scoffed, resolutely ignoring the feeling of warmth that unfurled in his chest.

“How did you know to be here?” asked Bellamy, voice hoarse.

“Octavia told Lincoln that everyone in your camp was hallucinating,” said Clarke, “and that you’d taken the outdated food with you on this trip.” She shot him a sly grin. “You sky people aren’t really that hard to track, you know.

“Octavia told _who_ —“

“What did you see, Bellamy?” Clarke was looking at him with naked concern shining in her eyes, and Bellamy swallowed thickly, looking away.

“We didn’t get a signal to the Ark in time,” he said, willing his voice not to break, “When I threw the radio away – those three hundred people. That’s what I saw.” Clarke took in a deep breath next to him, looking up at the stars.

“Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, there are people you just can’t save,” said Clarke, voice tinged with sadness, “It’s unavoidable.”

“I _caused_ this,” Bellamy looked up at the sky too, looking for the familiar glint of the Ark in the sky, “It’s _my_ fault they died, and not because I was too slow sending a signal. I destroyed that radio. I shot the Chancellor. I killed those people.”

“Why did you shoot this ‘Chancellor’?” asked Clarke.

“Someone promised to reunite me with Octavia,” said Bellamy, bitter.

“Why did you destroy the radio?” asked Clarke, and Bellamy’s brows furrowed, turning to look at her.

“They would have killed me,” he answered, “For shooting the Chancellor.” Clarke nodded.

“You’ve made mistakes, Bellamy,” she said, “But do you think Octavia would have survived down here without you? She’s strong, but she’s reckless. Without you—“

“Why I did it doesn’t excuse the fact that I _did_ it,” protested Bellamy. Clarke shot him a hard stare.

“No,” she agreed, “It doesn’t. But not all the world is so black and white, Bellamy. You made poor choices, but you made them for the right reasons.”

“They’re _dead_ ,” Bellamy’s voice broke over the words, “I’m a _monster_.”

“No,” she said, “You’re human. They’re dead, and that is a _tragedy_ ,” her eyes hardened, “But feeling guilty does them no good. Now you must honor their sacrifice. You carry the burden of their lives, and you must carry it well or bring their memories shame. You have to live.”

“… Can living wait a few minutes?” asked Bellamy, closing his eyes, “I’m tired.”

“Sure,” said Clarke, “Life’ll be here when you’re ready.”

“Down here?” scoffed Raven, stumbling out of the trees, “That’s unlikely.” Bellamy cracked an eye open, glaring a little. “Sorry to interrupt your moment,” said Raven, not sounding sorry at all, “But – Oh, he found you.” She eyed Dax with thinly veiled contempt. Upon closer inspection, Bellamy could see a steady drip of blood emerging from her hairline.

Looking exhausted, Raven took a seat on the other side of Clarke.

“Hey, grounder girl,” she said, and Clarke smiled at her.

“Clarke,” she said, holding out her hand. Raven shook it.

“Raven.”

“Great,” said Bellamy, “We’re all friends.”

“I am _so_ not your friend,” said Raven, “I’ll be her friend. Her I like. You I can’t stand.”

“Likewise,” grunted Bellamy. Clarke laughed, high and bright.

“You two are so—“

“If you say similar I am definitely retracting my friendship,” Raven huffed. Clarke grinned.

“… Amusing,” finished Clarke, though it was clearly not the word she’d originally planned on using. The three sat there in silence for who knows how long, looking up at the stars and for once in their short lives just relaxing. Clarke sighed, faintly, and Bellamy turned a fraction so he could examine her. He couldn’t make her out that well, in the dark, but her hair glowed under the moonlight and her eyes seemed all the more blue, somehow. Bellamy couldn’t quite fathom how someone so genuinely _good_ grew up in a place so violent and hard. He’d always thought that being good and being a survivor were mutually exclusive, one or the other. Clarke was an amalgamation of both, an entity that Bellamy still had trouble believing existed.

Raven leaned forward, catching Bellamy’s eye and smirking, one brow cocked. He snorted, turning away before she could see the flush staining his cheeks.

“Listen,” said Raven, “I need to get these supplies back to camp. Are you coming, or…?”

“No,” said Bellamy, frowning as he tilted his head down to stare at his hands, “I can’t go back there. You know that.”

“Yeah,” said Raven, “I know. Whatever, we’re probably better off without your psychosis anyway.”

“Probably,” replied Bellamy with a wry smile. She frowned, looking at the ground.

“What should I tell Octavia?”

“Tell her I left,” sighed Bellamy, “Or that I died. It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters,” said Raven.

“Sure,” replied Bellamy, “Whatever.” Raven sighed, eyes rolling to the sky.

“Where are you gonna go?” she asked, pushing herself to her feet and dusting off her pants. It didn’t help. Everything down here was covered in an immutable layer of grime. Bellamy shrugged a shoulder.

“Maybe I’ll stay here,” His eyes slid over to the silhouette of Dax’s prone form, “… Maybe not.”

“You could come with me,” said Clarke, voice small and eyes wide like she hadn’t quite meant to say it. Bellamy turned slightly, watching her inquisitively. She avoided eye contact, chewing on her lip. “Not—Not back to our village, obviously,” she continued, “But Lincoln and I aren’t even there that often anyway. We wander a lot, and—I mean, if you wanted—“

“He wants to,” cut in Raven, “Totally. Great idea.”

“I don’t get a say in this?” asked Bellamy dryly.

“Nope,” replied Raven, a little too cheerily, “The universe has its ways, Bellamy Blake.” She tossed him a rifle from the bag she had slung over her shoulder. “You might want this.” He nodded, grateful, and she turned, walking out into the darkness.

“Raven,” called Clarke after her. Raven stopped walking, but didn’t turn around. “Be safe.”

“You too, Clarke,” hollered Raven, starting forward again, “Ditch Bellamy’s rude ass if you need to.” Clarke laughed, leaning back against the tree with a smile on her face.

“So - what do grounders do for fun around here?” grunted Bellamy, wincing as he prodded at a scrape on his jaw.

“Oh, you know,” Clarke pushed herself wearily to her feet, “The usual, I guess.” Bellamy snorted.

“Right.” With a grunt, Bellamy stood as well, hefting the rifle into his arms. “So…”

“Onward,” said Clarke, “There’s a bunker not too far from here that’s sealed up well. We should go there,” she eyed him, scanning him with a critical eye, “You need to get cleaned up.”

“Alright, princess, no need to get all high and mighty,” Bellamy teased. Clarke’s eyes widened.

“I’m not a –“

“Lead the way, princess,” he cut in with an overly dramatic bow. Clarke huffed, but turned and gestured for Bellamy to follow. He trailed after her, smiling faintly, stepping carefully over gnarled roots and keeping one careful eye fixed on her hair. When had his life turned into this – this mess? Clarke was… Well, something. But she wasn’t from the Ark. She was a grounder, and the grounders were enemies, at least generally speaking, and yet Bellamy was following her to who knew where. He trusted her, and that was the most dangerous thing of all.

Clarke came to a sudden stop, scanning the trees. She must have heard a noise Bellamy didn’t, and he tightened his grip on the rifle, raising it slightly and stepping toward Clarke. After a moment, she shook her head, turned back to her path and kept walking. Bellamy lowered the rifle, feet following her as if by instinct, as if following after her was what they were there for. His heartbeat slowed, the danger passed, but he still felt twitchy, keeping his eyes steady on Clarke. If anyone attacked, they’d probably go for her first, she looked weaker, and Bellamy wouldn’t let that hap--

 _Shit_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it! From this point on I will be deviating a little bit more from the show's canon. Events that happen will still be central, obviously, but with Bellamy no longer a part of the 100, things might turn out a little differently. I could write this sappy shit for days, but I can also write angst like nobody's business, so don't assume everything will always be peachy keen ;) Little taste of that in this chapter, but what _will_ the future hold I wonder..
> 
> Now that Bellamy's realized he might actually be a human being with _feelings_ , I wonder how that'll affect his attitude around Clarke? ;)
> 
> Unfortunately it's going to be awhile before you find out because next chapter is from Raven's point of view. Look forward to it!


	4. four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! I had finals, a new job, and Dragon Age: Inquisition. Plus heartbreak re: the walking dead. So it's been a busy few weeks, lmao. 
> 
> This is bad. It's so bad. I knew where I wanted to go and I got there, more or less, but I STRUGGLED, damn. Also Raven is surprisingly difficult to write, as it turns out.
> 
> Hopefully this chapter is better than I think it is and I just hate it because of how hard it was to write.

When Raven hit the launch button on her pod, all she’d really been thinking about was Finn, and the people who would get spaced if she failed, and she’d been so _goddamn_ angry. What kind of people decided who was worthy of life or not? What kind of people sent a bunch of _kids_ to their death for their own gain? What kind of people—

Anyway. The bracelets had all gone dark, and Raven had been snooping. She found out enough that the higher-ups had to either bring her in on it, or get rid of her. Abby Griffin, the Ark’s doctor and apparently the only person on the council with any _sense_ , came up with an idea that allowed them to do both: send Raven to Earth. She could find out the fate of the 100 and radio back, and (more importantly for the council, Raven noted with no small amount of anger) she couldn’t cause trouble up on the Ark. So Raven sailed through space and crashed home. In theory, her mission was simple: don’t die, find Finn, radio the Ark, save hundreds of lives. No problem.

And then Bellamy fucking Blake happened.

Raven had been warned that he’d be on the ground, that he might try to stop her, that he was dangerous. All of which were true, she discovered within maybe five minutes of waking up on Earth. She hadn’t been warned that the 100 wouldn’t be the only people down there.

Clarke was—

Clarke was a killer. It was obvious in the way she moved, in the way she held herself, always ready for a fight. It was made clear by the hard lines of her, and knife ever present on her thigh. She was also, probably, one of the most genuinely good people Raven had ever met. She was all hard lines and dirt and blood, but her eyes were soft and her smile gentle and as Raven hefted two bags of guns over her shoulder and left Clarke and Bellamy sitting under a tree (sitting _in_ a tree, singsonged the snarkier part of Raven’s mind) she couldn’t help but think that maybe Clarke was exactly the person who could make Bellamy into, like, a real human being.

He was all misery and anger, fire churning in his gut that threatened to burn him alive. Clarke was a gamble, Raven acknowledged. She could either be the cool rain that Bellamy needed, to wash away the things he’d done and the person he’d become. Or, she’d be the sun, and Bellamy would be Icarus and Clarke, for all her kindness and love, would only ruin him.

Or would she be the ocean that Icarus drowned in? Raven was losing track of her metaphors. The point was, Clarke was either exactly what Bellamy needed or exactly what would bring him down.

Raven wasn’t quite sure which scenario she preferred. She shook her head, hiked the bags further up on her shoulder, and trudged back to camp.

 

* * *

 

 

“Where’s Bellamy?” asked Miller, meeting Raven at the gate. She slid the bags of guns off her shoulder, dropping them at her feet.

“Gone,” said Raven, and Miller turned a little green. She placed a hesitant hand on his shoulder. “He’s fine,” she said, voice low, “But he’s left. Keep it quiet.” Miller nodded, after a time.

“… So,” he started, quiet, “What now? Who leads?”

“For now, we do,” said Raven, turning and searching the camp, “Monroe!” The girl looked up from where she’d been braiding a younger girl’s – Charlotte’s? – hair, handing the girl the end of the braids and jogging over.

“Yeah, Chief?” she asked, as soon as she was close. Monroe had taken to calling Raven chief, for whatever reason, and despite Raven’s protests the name seemed to stick. Worse, it was catching.

“Bellamy’s left,” said Miller, in that quiet voice of his. Monroe’s eyes widened, then narrowed.

“He _left_?” she hissed, and Raven shushed her hastily.

“When the people from the Ark get down here, they’ll kill him,” she explained, “So he took off.” Monroe’s glare softened, slightly, but a fire still burned in her eyes. “For now, we’re in charge – _I’m_ in charge, and—“ Raven faltered, eyes catching on something in the sky. Her mouth dropped open.

Monroe and Miller paused, turned, and twin gasps left their mouths. Distantly, Raven heard kids screaming. In the sky, the Exodus ship spiraled. Too fast, no parachute – Raven felt all the blood drain from her face. All they could do was watch as the ship crashed to the ground. The tremor shook the camp, even as far away as it was. A plume of smoke rose billowed out of the ship, and Miller’s hand clutched at Raven’s elbow.

“What do we do, Chief?” he asked, sounding faint.

“We—“ started Raven, quickly realizing she had no answer, “…. Shit.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was a long night – all the kids were frenzied, panicked. The Exodus ship, Bellamy’s absence – the timing was shit, everything was shit, and Raven didn’t know how to handle it. These kids were delinquents, criminals, they were independent and tough as hell, but they were still just _kids_ , and they might have just witnessed their parents’ deaths.

Some of them just wanted a leader, didn’t care who, and followed Raven. Most, though – most were loyal to Bellamy. She didn’t know how he’d managed to inspire so much loyalty. He was an ass, a violent ass with little to no social skills – and yet these kids were ready to follow him into hell. Raven was half impressed by him, half pissed that he’d left at such an inopportune time.

About halfway through the night, when the moon was high above them and Raven had had to just jump into the middle of a fistfight to separate two kids, Octavia came screaming into camp, raging like a wildfire. Apparently the news had just made its way to her that Bellamy was gone. Raven groaned and intercepted Octavia, explaining quickly and quietly that Bellamy was fine, he was gone, but he was with Clarke, he was fine.

“He just, what—he just _left_?” asked Octavia, voice thin and eyes watery. Raven grimaced, nodding.

“He thought you’d be safer here—“

“I don’t give a _shit_ what he thought,” Octavia snapped, “He’s a selfish _asshole_.” A tear finally fell from her eye, and she whirled on her heel, storming off toward the dropship. Raven pinched her brow between her fingers.

“That went about as well as expected,” she muttered.

“I thought she’d hit you,” said Monroe dryly as she approached, “So I’d say better than expected.”

“Your vote of confidence means a lot,” replied Raven. Monroe just grinned cheekily, tossing her braids over her shoulder.

“What I’m here for, Chief,” she said, “Now what do we do about the Exodus ship?” Raven blinked. “Kids are wanting to go see,” explained Monroe, “See if their parents were on it, mostly.” Raven sighed.

“We can’t let them do that, can we,” she said, slumping into a seat nearby, “But we do need to check it out. It could have parts.”

“I’ll put together a team,” said Monroe, clapping a hand on Raven’s shoulder before walking away.

“Thank you,” Raven called after her, head in her hands. Footsteps approached after a few long minutes, and Raven squinted up at her visitor. _Finn_. In the chaos, she hadn’t even talked to him. He quirked a smile at her as he approached.

“You okay there?” he asked, “Sounds like it’s been a long night.”

“Yeah,” Raven laughed, humorlessly, “That would be an understatement.”

“I hear Bellamy’s gone.”

“Yeah.”

“Where’d he go?”

“Does it matter?”

“Guess not.” Finn sat down next to her, nudging her shoulder with his own.  “You wanna talk about it?”

“About Bellamy Blake?” Raven snorted. “Not a chance in hell.”

“How about you apparently being our new leader?” asked Finn. Raven groaned.

“Don’t remind me.” He laughed, rubbing a hand over her back. Raven sighed, leaning into his touch.

“What’re you gonna do?” he asked, and an edge in his voice gave her cause to shoot him a suspicious look.

“Why do I feel like you have a suggestion?” she asked, frowning and shrugging off his hand.

“I do,” he said, smiling disarmingly at her. Her eyes narrowed. “We need to make peace with the grounders,” he continued, “I don’t know—how, exactly, but we’re not soldiers. We can’t win against them in a war, and I don’t want to fight anyway.”

“We’ve got guns—“

“I know, but – Raven, I don’t want to kill people.”

“Sometime, down here, you might have to,” Raven replied, eyes hard as she stood, “I get it, I do, and the fact that you care so much—I love that about you, I do, but…”

“But it’s not enough,” finished Finn with a frown.

“Down here?” she replied, “Down here, caring might get you killed.” Finn was quiet for a few long moments, letting out a long breath through his nose.

“Yeah,” he said, sounding defeated.

“Chief,” called Monroe, jogging over from the gates, “We’re ready to go when you are.” Raven nodded, swooping down and catching a kiss from Finn.

“I’ll be back,” she promised, turning and following after Monroe, nabbing one of the rifles as she went, without a look back at Finn. Her neck burned with the feeling of his eyes on her. She kept her eyes on the horizon, where the smoke from the ship’s crash still billowed.

She was leader now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter should (hopefully) be much quicker for me to write. If you see any glaring mistakes in this chapter don't hesitate to let me know. I wrote it working on far less sleep than I should have, heh.
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	5. five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a bad fanfic author, I know. I don't know how I found the time for this chapter, but hopefully it signals me learning how to _actually_ manage my time. We'll see. From here on out, I have a vague idea of where I'm going but admittedly less of a plan, so it might be a lot of shorter chapters, rather than a few longer ones.
> 
> This chapter has been written in like, four sentence chunks over the course of, what, four months? I tried to smooth it all out, so I think it reads well, but I apologize if it's a little disjointed. It's more of a scene than a full chapter, but I really wanted to get _something_ posted.
> 
> Alright, I've rambled enough. Enjoy!

“It’s a miracle you’ve survived this long,” called Clarke, voice drifting hazily through the trees. Bellamy whirled, eyes searching for her in the dark. Finally, his eyes slid upward, and Clarke waved lazily at him from her perch in a tree. “You’re terrible at this game.”

“At least I don’t cheat,” muttered Bellamy, trudging on. Clarke landed, nearly silent, beside him.

“I don’t cheat,” she argued indignantly, “I—“

“Use the environment to your advantage,” finished Bellamy in a half-hearted falsetto. Clarke glared, but Bellamy only smirked, voice dropping back to its normal tone, “Yeah. You’ve mentioned it once or twice.”

Clarke huffed, turning and sprinting off into the darkness. Bellamy rolled his eyes skyward.

“Again,” called Clarke, her voice coming from nowhere Bellamy could pinpoint. Christ, he hated this game.

Clarke had taken it upon herself to teach him how to think like a grounder. “Grounder?” she'd laughed, “Is that your name for us?”

“Don't you have a name for us?” asked Bellamy. Clarke bit her lip, searching for the words in English.

“Sky people,” she said finally, “Is probably the closest translation.”

“What is it in your language?” he asked, suddenly burning with curiosity.

“ _Skaikru_ ,” she replied, almost too quickly for Bellamy to catch.

“ _Skaikru_ ,” he parroted, earning a small nod from Clarke. “That's... Not really that different from English.”

“It's English, sort of,” explained Clarke, “It's evolved, while you've been up in the sky.”

“In space,” Bellamy corrected her, “We were on a space station.” Clarke waved a dismissive hand.

“Call it what you will,” she said, “Space, sky -- From the ground, it's all the same.”

“What else?” asked Bellamy, curious beyond reason towards the language this strange, foreign girl had grown up speaking. Clarke shot him a skewed grin.

“You can't just sound like a -- like a Grounder, Bellamy Blake,” she said, all but dancing away from him, “You have to survive like a Grounder.” With that, she disappeared into the trees. That had been hours ago, and still she insisted that Bellamy play this game.

The game was simple enough - Clarke was the enemy, unseen, and Bellamy needed to survive. To do that, he first needed to find her. This part, he didn't care for. She was all too skilled at remaining hidden, her whole life spent climbing trees, camouflaging herself in greenery. Bellamy had all of a week's experience on the ground, and he grew more and more frustrated with this game the longer it went on. The girl could climb a tree in like, four seconds flat, and it was pissing Bellamy off.

He groaned, annoyed, and turned around. “I’m going back to the dropship,” he yelled into the trees, “At least they just want to kill me.” Clarke’s laugh was high and clear, ringing through the forest.

“You’re a sore loser, Bellamy Blake,” she called, and the snap of twigs alerted Bellamy to her location. He spun and leapt towards her, catching her off guard. She stumbled back, but Bellamy twisted his hand in her hair, yanking her backwards. She yelped, scrabbling for grip against his hand. He pulled as gently as he could while still being effective, and twisted his body, sweeping his leg under hers and knocking them both to the ground. He grinned, breathless, perched on his elbows over her. She glared.

"Cheater," she sniped.

"Using the environment to my advantage," Bellamy shot back. She snorted, shoving at his shoulders. He clambered to his feet and held out his hand to help her up. Gracefully, she stood, pushing his hand aside as she moved.

“Where are we going?” asked Bellamy, falling into step beside her, “You still haven’t told me.”

“There’s a clan by the sea,” she said, “They’re… Somewhat more accepting of outsiders.”

“Won’t kill me on sight, you mean?” Bellamy asked, crossing his arms.

“Something like that,” agreed Clarke.

They walked in silence for a while, Clarke occasionally pulling Bellamy away from traps he couldn’t see. In the distance, a loud boom thundered across the forest. The trees shook, leaves raining down upon the pair. Clarke turned, eyes scanning the distance. Bellamy tensed.

“I should—“

“It was probably your people landing,” she pointed out, “Isn’t that what we’re running from?”

“Octavia—“

“Is much tougher than you give her credit for.” Clarke’s eyebrows were raised, a challenging glint in her eyes. Bellamy scoffed, turning and continuing the direction they’d been heading. After a moment’s pause, Clarke followed.

If he had to guess, Bellamy would wager that the forest was eerily quiet. But for him, having grown up on the Ark, it was _loud_. The engines of the space station had always been a dull hum in the back of his mind, but this was different. Alive. He didn’t know how Clarke had grown up here and not gone batshit.

Then again, most of the grounders he’d met seemed a little… Well, batshit.

“How far to the – what are they called?”

“ _Floudonkru_.”

“Flu—whatever, sea people.” Clarke rolled her eyes.

“Flou-don-kru,” she said, sounding it out slowly, “Boat people.”

“Them,” said Bellamy, monotone, “How far to them?”

“A day and a half, give or take,” said Clarke, “There’s a bunker we can camp in overnight, a few hours from here.”

“Better hurry up then,” said Bellamy.

“Try not to step on a landmine,” replied Clarke dryly. Bellamy froze.

“Are there _landmines_ in this forest?” he asked, looking more annoyed than afraid.

“Don’t know,” said Clarke, grinning cheekily, “But if anyone could find one, I have no doubt it would be you.” Bellamy rolled his eyes skyward, grumbling to himself. This girl would be the death of him.

... Assuming there weren't actually landmines.


	6. six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWO updates in as many days? What is in the water here?
> 
> I feel I should mention in case anyone is here looking for a well plotted out story with lots of ups and downs: this is an unrepentant piece of pure fluff. I've got a few plot points, maybe, but mostly I'm just writing to make myself giggle. My version of these characters is undoubtedly much lighter-hearted than in the TV show. I've got headcanons for why this might be, so if you want to know feel free to drop me a message at my [tumblr](http://morriganic.tumblr.com).
> 
> Shorter chapters will likely be the norm from here on out, for my own sanity.
> 
> Enjoy!

The bunker was tiny, but it was warm and well-stocked with food, so Bellamy wasn’t going to complain. He stabbed into a can of beans with Clarke’s knife, prying the lid off.

“If you know about this bunker, why haven’t you cleaned out the food?” he asked, dumping the beans out onto the plates Clarke had cleaned off. She shrugged, taking her plate.

“You never know how long the fog is going to last,” she said, scooping a spoonful of beans into her mouth and handing Bellamy the spoon – they could only find the one, so they had to share. “I keep a few bunkers stocked up, just in case. If one thing can be said about the people before, it’s that they made a lot of food that lasts.”

She set her plate down, standing and retrieving a drawing pad and pencil, then resettling herself on the floor, plate balanced on one knee and drawing pad on the other. She sketched idly while she ate, pausing only when Bellamy handed off the spoon. He watched silently for a while. Abruptly, Clarke stood, making her way to the far corner of the bunker and pulling something out of a cupboard.

“Is that—“

“Yep,” said Clarke, grinning as she dusted off the music box. “It’s only got one song, and it’s kind of annoying, but it doesn’t need electricity.” She twisted the crank on it two dozen times and set the box down, letting its gentle music fill the bunker.

“It’s too quiet,” she said by way of explanation as she sat back down, picking up her drawing pad again. Bellamy shrugged. He hadn’t noticed.

“I didn’t know you could draw,” he said, setting his now empty plate down. Clarke’s hands stilled over her sketch, and she looked up, one eyebrow raised.

“What, because I’m a _grounder_?” she asked, ice in her voice. Bellamy froze, opening his mouth to backtrack, when he caught the glint in her eye. He frowned.

“You’re just giving me shit now, aren’t you?” She smiled, smug.

“I don’t know that phrase,” she admitted, “But I’m going to guess yes.” Bellamy groaned.

“I just had to get stuck with the grounder with a sense of humor.”

“Better than the grounder that wants you dead.” Bellamy’s eyebrow twitched.

“… Fair,” he relented. Clarke smiled, turning back to her drawing. It was rapidly taking the shape of the forest, towering trees and fog looming on the horizon, a mountain shadowing it all.

“How’d you learn to draw?” asked Bellamy.

“Lincoln and I both learned,” she said, “We’re quick and quiet. Good scouts.” Her nose wrinkled. “They don’t like me going out so much because I’m a good healer too, but I like exploring. Drawing.”

“Do you ever draw people?” Bellamy leaned forward, trying for a better look at the sketchbook. Clarke leaned back a little, a pretty blush rising high on her cheeks.

“No,” she said, quickly closing the book. Bellamy raised a brow, mouth twitching at a grin.

“Have you ever drawn me?” he asked.

“ _No_ ,” she insisted, hiding the sketchbook behind her back. Bellamy reached for it, catching Clarke around the waist when she tried to dart away. After a moment of wrestling with the small but _incredibly determined_ girl (and more than one elbow in his neck), Bellamy had the book in his hands. He hesitated before opening it, though, gaze catching Clarke’s. She frowned, waving her hand in what was a clear attempt (and failure) at nonchalance. “Look, if you have to,” she muttered, crossing her arms self-consciously. Bellamy, at Clarke’s allowance, flipped open the book and began flipping slowly through the drawings. Clarke moved to look at it over his arm, her shoulders tense.

She was an incredible artist, no two ways about it. Most of the sketches were quick, bare-bones outlines of animals, or places, but they had an undeniable spark of life to them. He turned the page. Beside him, Clarke tensed, and his hands stilled as the paper settled. The drawing was of him and Octavia, laughing about something. How Clarke managed to capture the moment in such detail, Bellamy would never know. His and Octavia’s smiles were bright, happy. He missed that.

Octavia’s form was more roughly sketched than Bellamy’s – the detail Clarke had captured with a few messy lines was astounding. He felt half like he was looking at a photo of himself, not a drawing by a girl with blood under her nails and a chewed-down pencil the length of her pinky finger.

Bellamy felt a little overwhelmed, considering how much work must have gone into this drawing. He had the feeling she’d gotten every freckle on his cheeks perfectly in place.

“You should smile more often,” she murmured at his side, eyes scanning her drawing a moment. Then, snatching the book out of his hands and dancing out of reach, “It makes me want to punch you less.”

* * *

“So,” said Bellamy, sometime later after the plates had been cleaned and the music from the music box had faded away, “How much longer is our trip tomorrow?”

“We’re about halfway there,” answered Clarke, pulling blankets out from under the bed. The only bed, it dawned on Bellamy. He smirked.

“If you wanted to share a bed with me, you just had to ask,” he taunted, crossing his arms and leaning back, watching Clarke as she threw the blankets haphazardly over the bed.

Without missing a beat, she replied, “This bed is mine. You can have the floor.”

“Wha—the floor is _concrete_ ,” protested Bellamy. Clarke sent him a smirk of her own.

“You find the bunker, you can have the bed,” she said, sitting down. She tilted her head, holding out a blanket. “Enjoy the concrete.”

Grumbling, Bellamy snatched the blanket from her, trying to find a place on the ground that wouldn’t be _as_ uncomfortable to sleep on. Arranging his blanket in the best possible way, Bellamy gingerly lay down just as Clarke started laughing.

“I’m only – what was that phrase you used earlier? Giving you shit?” she grinned, “We can share the bed, so long as you don’t kick in your sleep.” Bellamy’s eyes rolled skyward and he just stared at the ceiling for a long few moments, demanding the universe answer for sticking him with _this_ girl, of all people.

Finally, he stood, and Clarke scooted to one side of the bed, laying down facing away from Bellamy. Her blond hair fanned over the pillow, and Bellamy unceremoniously shoved it out of his way, earning a scathing glare from Clarke.

The bed was small, and even with both doing their best to stick to their respective sides, their backs still ended up pressed together. Clarke was a relatively small human being. Bellamy was not. He was pretty sure the tickle on the back of his neck was her hair, returning with a vengeance, but he had no trouble falling asleep to the rhythm of her breath against his back.

He woke a few hours later to Clarke shoving him onto the ground in her sleep. Muttering to himself, he grabbed his blanket and resettled in his original place. On the concrete.


End file.
